


An Experiment

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Broken Bones, Insecure Sherlock, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Masturbation, Past Drug Addiction, Sherlock Wearing A Sheet, Slow Burn, Sweet John, Then intentional voyeurism, Unilock, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-year-old Sherlock Holmes goes to tutor John Watson in chemistry and ends up moving in with him the next day.  It would be perfect, if only Sherlock weren't so awkward and John weren't so gorgeous.</p>
<p>"If he looked at it as an experiment, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.  An experiment with a very nice arse and beautiful eyes.  An experiment Sherlock was sure had sexy legs under those trousers.  He had been proved right about the existence of a very nice upper body under the jumper, so he was sure that he was right about that as well.  Yes, he would treat this just like an experiment.<br/>Doing a little experiment couldn’t hurt anything, could it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick first chapter of a Unilock I started tonight, I'm excited to play with some Johnlock stuff for a while after writing so much Mystrade. The rating is for later chapters.

Sherlock Holmes walked into the library, looking around for the boy he was supposed to be meeting. He had only spoken to him on the phone, but he was sure he would recognize him instantly. Ah, there he was. Clearly the only rugby player in the room and it had been obvious on the phone that the boy was a rugby player. An unusually bright rugby player, but a rugby player nonetheless.

Nice body, though, under that hideous jumper.

Sherlock tried to push the thought from his mind, knowing that a boy like that, or any boy, really, would never want to be involved with someone like Sherlock. That just wasn’t possible. Boys weren’t interested in Sherlock. Very few people were ever voluntarily around Sherlock and those were the people Sherlock avoided like the plague.

“John Watson?” he asked, walking over.

The boy looked around as if he were surprised. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Sherlock Holmes. I’m a bit early, but I thought if we started early, we could end early.”

“Ah, big plans tonight?” the boy asked with a grin.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. Why would I have plans?”

“Well, it is Friday. Here, sit.” He cleared his bag off of the chair next to him and tossed it on the floor.

Inside, Sherlock laughed. Why would Sherlock have plans just because it was Friday? He was hardly the plan-having type. Wasn’t that obvious? All gangly and tall with his ridiculous hair, mouth, and cheekbones? It was as if Sherlock’s every feature were conspiring against him to make him stand out when all he wanted to do was blend in and let people forget him.

“Where do you want to start?” Sherlock asked, nodding at the chemistry book in front of John.

“Actually, first can you tell me how you knew who I was? There are lots of people here studying chemistry.” He looked around the room at several boys who were in various stages of despair over chemistry books.

“You’re the only one who plays rugby,” Sherlock said without thinking about it, pulling a notebook out of his bag. He stopped and looked at John, who was staring at him. Ah, yes. The staring. That never got old.

“How did you know that I play rugby? I’m sure I didn’t mention it.”

Sherlock sighed. “The first time we talked, you were in some sort of cheering crowd. It was clearly some type of sporting event. You were winded, which means that you had just finished exerting yourself physically. And you seemed unnaturally happy, which makes it easy to assume that you were playing rugby and your team won. It’s easy to tell by looking at your body that you play rugby, since you are incredibly well-built.”  
Sherlock cringed internally at the last part, wishing he hadn’t sounded so childish and admiring. Hopefully John wouldn’t notice, he would call him odd, and they could move on with their lives. Sherlock would tutor him, they would both hate it, John would excel and would grudgingly admit that Sherlock was smart, even if he was a git, and they would never see each other again. Sherlock would move on to tutoring the next person who couldn’t understand basic chemistry and the cycle would repeat. It was how it always happened, there was no reason it was going to change now. 

No matter how gorgeous the boy was.

“That’s amazing,” John said quietly, looking at Sherlock like he actually believed what he was saying.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Brilliant. Totally amazing that you guessed that.”

“I didn’t guess it, John, I deduced it.”

“Well, however you did it. It was brilliant.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, temporarily lost for words. No one had ever reacted to him like that and he wasn’t quite sure how to react. Should he thank John? Should he ignore the compliments? He rather liked the way his stomach jumped when John looked at him with that smile and told him he was brilliant. He had never experienced anything quite like it before. If he didn’t know that things would surely soon take a turn for the worse, he would be happy at the thought of tutoring John.

“You okay, mate?” John asked after Sherlock sat there, silently staring for nearly a minute. 

Great, look like an idiot in front of the gorgeous boy you have to tutor, Sherlock berated himself. The last thing he needed was to embarrass himself in front of a cute boy. That would do wonders for his self-esteem.

“Fine. That’s just not what people normally call me.”

“What do people normally call you?”

“Some variation of ‘Freak’,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

“Really? That’s terrible.” John looked like he was actually shocked by this information, like it was beyond his imagination for people to be so terrible. Sherlock hoped that it as because John had never experienced terrible people. He seemed like a very nice boy, not like everyone else Sherlock had ever met.

Sherlock shrugged. “Shall we get started?”

John smiled, said something nice, and then turned his attention to the book. It turned out that John wasn’t a complete idiot. Like Sherlock had known from the moment they began talking to set up a tutoring appointment, John was quite intelligent. He didn’t understand some chemistry concepts, but that was more likely a result of bad teaching, which was a problem that Sherlock had encountered before. Nothing for it but to explain everything over again. Maybe someday the university would sack the bad teachers. Probably not, though, as idiots excelled all the time without anyone finding them out.

When they had finished, John began packing his books up. “I’d love to stay and chat a bit, you seem like an interesting bloke, but I have to go look at a flat.”

“Ah, renting somewhere new?” Sherlock asked, mentally kicking himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn’t make small talk, why did he feel a sudden urge to start now?

“Looking for a flat share. Everyone I’ve met has been mad. I want to live with someone I can stand to be around.”

“I understand the problem. I have an extra room, but I am certain to murder any of the people who have looked at it.” Sherlock wondered if John might like his spare room, but he decided that would be a bad idea. John seemed to like him, which would surely be ruined if they were to share a flat.

“Mind if I take a look at your spare room?” John asked, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts.

“I’m a terrible person to live with,” Sherlock told him. He might as well be honest. Flatmates should know the worst about each other, after all. “I play violin at odd hours, I go days without talking, and I sometimes walk around wearing nothing but a sheet.”

Sherlock may have been hallucinating, but he could have sworn that John looked him up and down and licked his lips at the last one. “I’m not exactly easy to live with either,” John said. “Just let me look at it. Maybe we’ll try living together for a while. If I don’t find a place to live in two days, I’m out on the street.”

Sherlock nodded and stood, packing his things away. He gave John the address and set up a time to meet him. As he was walking away, his brain came up with several good ideas for responses to what John had said. They would have been perfect if he had thought of them ten minutes before. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to find John and tell him the many responses now rattling around in his head, because he had to go quickly clean his flat before showing it to John later that night.

When they met later, Sherlock was surprised to see that John was wearing entirely different clothing. Before he had been wearing a button down shirt and a jumper and now he was wearing a t-shirt that was slightly too small, showing every muscle down John’s chest as he walked.

“Did something happen with your clothes?” Sherlock asked, trying not to stare at the track pants John was wearing, which hugged his backside in a way that made Sherlock’s trousers tight.

“The last place I went to look at. There was some sort of water line leak and I was soaked. These are all I had with me and I was going to be late, so I changed into them. Sorry, I’m not making a very good impression.”

Suppressing an urge to say that John certainly was making a good impression, one that would last at least until Sherlock’s next extra-long shower, Sherlock invited him in to have a look around.

“What do you think?” he asked when he had shown John the spare bedroom and all the important parts of the flat.

“I love it!” John announced cheerfully. “And you are, by far, the most normal potential flatmate of the lot. So, when can I move in?”

Sherlock felt his eyes fly open wide, but he couldn’t stop himself from making yet another ridiculous facial expression. John actually thought Sherlock was normal? Either he had a very skewed interpretation of what normal was or he really had met some strange people looking for flatmates. Everyone else who had looked at the flat seemed to think that Sherlock was extremely odd, but that wasn’t abnormal, as pretty much everyone Sherlock had ever met thought he was extremely odd. It was probably some sort of warning sign that John was willing to live with Sherlock, but he wasn’t about to pass up on a gorgeous flatmate who actually seemed to like Sherlock.

As Sherlock told John that he could move in whenever he wanted, anxiety started to build in his chest. What was he thinking? Sure, having a sexy, athletic flatmate sounded like an ideal plan, but what was going to happen when John realized that Sherlock was lusting after him? Most boys found that kind of attention unflattering from other boys, especially ugly boys with odd habits. Was Sherlock really naive enough to think that John might actually become his friend? Sherlock had never had a friend before, there was no reason that was going to start now. Sherlock gave himself a mental slap, reminding himself that he needed to be realistic with his expectations for this new living arrangement. There was no way that John was going to want to stay once he found out what Sherlock was really like, something that was bound to happen within moments of him moving into the flat.  
Sherlock would be lucky if he only ended up with one or two punches on the nose. It was going to be terrible.

***

John moved in the next day. He seemed awfully cheerful about it, which made Sherlock think that there was something wrong about John Watson. No one was that happy to be in the same room as Sherlock, especially since Sherlock wasn’t able to hide his sarcastic, rude self for very long.

Nearly as soon as John started moving boxes in, John made some silly comment about how it would be much easier for Sherlock to tutor John in chemistry and Sherlock made a normal, biting response. The friend of John’s who was helping him move, some boy named Graham or something like that, gave Sherlock a dirty look, but John didn’t seem to notice how rude Sherlock was being. John just laughed and went about his moving business, causing Sherlock to drop the chemicals he was mixing together in the kitchen, which caused a small explosion. 

After the fire department left, Sherlock was sure that John would have found an excuse to stop moving into the flat (or even just used the truth, it was bad enough to be a reason not to move into a flat), but he just made a joke about the situation. What was even worse was that Sherlock found the joke funny and even laughed at it before he realized what he was doing. If this kept up, Sherlock was going to find himself falling in love with this boy before long and that wouldn’t be a good thing.

Not a good thing at all.

After John had moved in, they ordered some takeaway. John’s friend—Grant, maybe?—had to leave, so Sherlock and John ate alone at the table, which was now slightly singed.

“So, do you have a girlfriend?” John asked casually.

If Sherlock had actually been eating his food, instead of just pretending to eat to seem normal, he would have choked on it. Why would someone think he would have a girlfriend? Did he look like the girlfriend-having type? That was a disturbing thought.

“No, no girlfriend. Not really my area.”

John frowned at him for a moment before realization dawned. “Oh! A boyfriend, then?”

“No, I don’t have one of those either,” Sherlock said, cursing his pale skin as he felt himself blush for what must have been at least the hundredth time that day.

“That’s okay, you know. The liking boys thing.” John looked a little embarrassed, which made Sherlock curious. Why would he be embarrassed about Sherlock’s sexuality?

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“So have you had many boyfriends?”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He didn’t want to out himself as a pathetic virgin, but he didn’t want to lie either. “Not really. I’m not the relationship type.”

“Oh, you’re into one night stands? You don’t look like much of a partier.” John seemed disappointed somehow and had apparently inferred something very wrong from what Sherlock had said.

“No, I don’t do anything like that,” Sherlock said quickly, hoping that he didn’t seem too eager. “I’m not one for any type of relationship. Romantic, sexual, friendly. People don’t do things like that with me.”

“Oh. I’d like to be friends with you, if that’s okay,” John told him.

This was one of those times when Sherlock wished he were normal. He wished that he could respond with something like, “Of course that’s okay. I’d love to be your friend.”

Instead, what he actually said was, “Why would you want that?” If it hadn’t been obvious before that Sherlock had something seriously wrong with his mind, this would be more than enough to convince John.

John laughed. “Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with you Sherlock? You have an amazing mind. And I’m fairly certain that you’re secretly nice and you just don’t want anyone to know about it.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was positive that he wasn’t secretly nice, so he wasn’t sure just what John was talking about. As for his “amazing mind”, he was sure that was an exaggeration. No one had ever called him amazing before, he was sure that it was unlikely for people to start now. He wasn’t sure why John thought these things about him. Sherlock hadn’t been on good behavior with John, and since his good behavior was usually just enough that people just berated him instead of trying to hit him, he was utterly confused as to why John seemed to like him.

As they said goodnight and Sherlock prepared for bed, he wondered about what had happened over the past two days. He had gone from living alone and being friendless to having a gorgeous flatmate who apparently wanted to be his friend. Having never had a friend before, Sherlock didn’t know what to do with this budding relationship. It was confusing for him and made him wish he had never decided to begin tutoring in the first place.

As he settled into bed with some light reading, he thought that it might be nice to finally have a friend. Other people seemed so caught up in their friendships and other relationships that it might be worth giving it a try. At the very least, it might help Sherlock learn more about normal interaction, which would help in his work. He quite enjoyed trying to solve crimes and thought he might one day have some sort of consulting position with the police, which meant that knowing about how people interacted with each other might help him in his future work.

If he looked at it as an experiment, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. An experiment with a very nice arse and beautiful eyes. An experiment Sherlock was sure had sexy legs under those trousers. He had been proved right about the existence of a very nice upper body under the jumper, so he was sure that he was right about that as well. Yes, he would treat this just like an experiment. 

Doing a little experiment couldn’t hurt anything, could it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter, so I'm not feeling great about it. I only have 33,000 words to write and I'll hit my NaNoWriMo goal, though, so I pushed through and kept writing. I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter, so that's a good thing. It may be up tonight, it might not.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys it!

John Watson was sure he had made a terrible mistake. Not only had his chemistry tutor, who was sure to think he was an idiot, turned out to be extremely sexy and brilliant, but John had moved in with him after knowing him for a day.

Sure, John had been desperate for a place to live, and the flat had been perfect, but what had he been thinking? He could barely stumble through a tutoring session with this boy without staring and making a fool of himself, how was he supposed to live with him?

He had tried to get somewhere with Sherlock their first night together in the flat, but Sherlock wasn’t interested in any sort of interaction, apparently. He seemed to be gay, which had give John a momentary glimmer of hope, but then he said that he didn’t do relationships, which made him wanting to shag John extremely unlikely.

And then John had gone and asked him if they could be friends. 

How old was John? Friends? Seriously?

John had gone to bed that night, cursing himself for being so childish. Surely Sherlock could not be less interested in John after that. As he lay in bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock. He was beautiful. With his long, curly hair that John wanted to pull in a moment of passion and his pretty mouth that John longed to kiss, there was no feature of Sherlock that wasn’t attractive. He let his hand trail down his stomach to the waistband of his pants, hesitating and then slipping in to stroke his hardening cock.

It may have been bad form to wank while thinking about your flatmate, but just then John didn’t care. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Sherlock would look with John’s cock between those perfect lips and he needed to touch himself.

When he finished, he rolled over and went to sleep, feeling guilty. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to face Sherlock the next morning without blushing furiously. 

Fuck.

***

The next day, John went into the kitchen for breakfast dressed for rugby practice. Sherlock was in there doing something at the table with chemicals. “Morning,” Sherlock said distractedly.

John was making tea when he heard something crash to the floor. He turned to see Sherlock staring at him. “What’s wrong?” John asked, looking around.

“What are you wearing?” Sherlock’s eyes were huge, which made John worry that he had done something wrong.

“Er, my rugby practice clothes?” He looked down at himself. He was simply wearing some shorts and a plain shirt. “Is there a problem?”

Sherlock’s eyes, which had been traveling up and down John’s body, snapped back up to John’s eyes. “Problem? Why would there be? I need to leave.” He abruptly stood, pulled on his coat, and left.

John shrugged to himself and went about making himself breakfast, deciding that it must have been something else that was odd about Sherlock. He had noticed that Sherlock was quite strange, but that was part of his charm. He didn’t seem to have any interest in things that were normal for boys their age, instead spending his time doing experiments and studying. John admired Sherlock for not caring what others thought like that. He thought it must be freeing to not worry about things like that.

When John went to his practice, he was surprised to see Sherlock sitting next to the practice field, reading a book. It must have been a coincidence. Sherlock certainly wasn’t the rugby-watching type and he was sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, not on one of the several benches that would have given him a great view of the practice.

“Watching me practice?” he asked with a grin, walking up to Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock looked confused. He looked up at John and then at the practice field. “I didn’t notice…I’m not watching you!” he said quickly.

John chuckled. “Of course not. I know it’s coincidental. How is your book?”

Sherlock looked down at the book in his lap and shrugged. He didn’t seem to know what to say, so John just left it and went to run his arse off with the other boys.

“What’s he doing here?” Greg Lestrade asked, running up to John. He had helped John move in the day before, so he had met Sherlock.

John shrugged, watching Sherlock write something in his book. Oh, how he wanted to run over there, pull Sherlock up by his shirt and snog him senseless. There was something so sexy about him, sitting there in his long black coat amidst all the green of the field and boys wearing shorts and playing rugby. He didn’t belong and he looked fantastic doing it.

“He just happened to be here, I think.”

“Oh, no,” Greg said despairingly.

John tore his eyes from Sherlock to look at Greg. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re in love with him!”

Blushing, John shook his head. “No, of course not.” He looked at Sherlock again and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Well. Maybe.”

“You have it bad, mate. What are you going to do?”

John shrugged. “Nothing. He’s not interested in a relationship.”

“You asked him?”

“I asked him if he’s in a relationship. He said he wasn’t interested in all that.”

“Who’s that with him?”

John looked back to see a man in a nice suit standing next to Sherlock, talking to him. The man was fairly attractive, but any good looks he had paled next to Sherlock. “No idea.”

“I’ll find out,” Greg told him before John could say anything and disappeared.

John watched, amused, as Greg went over to the pair and introduced himself to the man in the suit. The man was clearly older than they were, at least in his mid twenties. He smiled at Greg and John rolled his eyes. Of course Greg was going to successfully chat up this friend of Sherlock’s. When Greg returned, John shook his head at him.

“That’s his brother, Mycroft. I got his number,” Greg said, holding his arm out, where a phone number was written.

“So you’re going to date my flatmate’s brother? That doesn’t seem complicated at all.”

Greg grinned. “It’s not complicated to me. Did you see him? he’s gorgeous.”

John just shook his head and went back to practice. He would never understand how Greg could just go up to someone and ask him out on a date. The prospect seemed terrifying to John.

***

John was walking home, tired and dirty, when a car pulled up next to him and stopped. “May I offer you a ride?” the man inside, Sherlock’s brother, asked.

John looked down at himself. He was completely covered in dirt. “I’m afraid I’ll get your car dirty.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Please. Get in.” The man’s eyes looked like they weren’t playing around, so John climbed into the car, sitting next to him.

“You’re Sherlock’s brother?” John asked curiously.

“Mycroft Holmes. And you are my brother’s new flatmate.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as if he thought John were being intentionally obtuse. “Why did you move in with Sherlock?”

“I needed a place to live and he had a room.” John frowned. Why was he being grilled like this? He hadn’t done anything wrong by moving in with Sherlock, had he?

“My brother can be very difficult to live with. Very few people can stand to spend more than a few minutes with him.”

John shrugged. He could see that some people would have problems with Sherlock, mainly because he would not stop talking when he should. John didn’t have any issues like that, however, so he didn’t see what the problem was. “Do you not want me to live with him? Is that what this is? You want him to remain friendless and alone?”

Mycroft looked surprised. “Not at all. In fact, I desire the opposite. I do not want to see Sherlock be hurt. If you become his friend, or indeed begin any sort of relationship with him, when you leave he will be crushed.”

John didn’t like Mycroft’s tone when he said the word “relationship”. It was almost as if he was suggesting that John had ulterior motives for living with Sherlock.

“What exactly are you suggesting might happen?”

“I just want everyone to be clear. I care a great deal about my brother’s happiness. He is very inexperienced with relationships of any sort and I want to ensure that he is not hurt needlessly.”

The car rolled to a stop and John was thankful. He was afraid that if he stayed in the car any longer, he would say something that he would really regret. “Well, you needn’t worry. I have no intentions of hurting anyone. Thank you for the ride,” he said coldly and hopped out of the car.

He went into the flat, feeling angry. Sherlock was on the floor, cleaning up whatever he had spilled earlier. 

“What is it with your family?” John asked Sherlock, making him look up, surprised.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you all mad? You don’t need to sic your brother on me. If you have a problem, you can speak to me yourself, like an adult.”

Sherlock looked confused. “My brother spoke to you?”

It was as if the wind went out of John’s sails. “You didn’t ask him to say anything to me?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock stood, looking wary. “What did my idiot brother say now?”

“Nothing.” John sat down at the table with a heavy sigh.

“No, really, what did he say?”

“He warned me not to hurt you.”

“What?” Sherlock looked shocked.

“What did you tell him about me?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. The motion made his curls bounce and John wished he could reach out and stroke them.

“Well, he seems to have the wrong impression about what’s happening here. Right?”

“Yes! Right!” Sherlock seemed full of some kind of nervous energy. He began pacing around the room, wringing his hands. “I will fix this.” He rushed from the flat again, leaving John sitting there, bemused.

***

A week later, things seemed to be settling into a nice rhythm. John and Sherlock went to their classes during the day and came home, inevitably ending up spending the evenings together, laughing and joking as they studied, experimented, and read. John was quite enjoying living with Sherlock, being happy to have a flatmate he could have fun with as well as live with. It was a far cry from his last living situation, with his alcoholic sister and her girlfriend, with whom she was always fighting.

John came home one day, expecting the usual takeaway and chatting, and found Sherlock sitting at his desk in the living room with a sheet wrapped around him. John couldn’t see all of Sherlock, but there was enough bare chest visible that John was fairly certain that Sherlock was naked underneath.

He remembered Sherlock saying something about liking to wear nothing but a sheet around the house, but he had thought that Sherlock was joking when he said that. He hadn’t actually expected to come home to see his sexy, beautiful flatmate sitting in the living room practically naked.

He couldn’t take it. Luckily, he had just come from rugby practice, so Sherlock wouldn’t think it odd if he took a shower right away. He didn’t say a single word to Sherlock, just sprinted out of the room and practically ripped his clothes off of his body and jumped into the shower.

Once he was in the shower, he wasted no time in getting his hands on himself. He had been so frustrated the past week, so near Sherlock and not having any method of release but masturbation, that it only took a few minutes to bring himself off, his mind jumbling all the dirty things he wanted to do to and with Sherlock together in a few moments of pure bliss as he orgasmed.

It wasn’t the first time he had masturbated, but for some reason, this time felt different. He was unable to control himself when he came and practically shouted Sherlock’s name. It didn’t occur to him until he had finished showering and was drying off that Sherlock was just outside and may have heard him.

Wishing he could punch himself in the face, John tentatively stepped out of the room, looking around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign that Sherlock had heard anything, but he could have very well heard and rushed out, not wanting an awkward scene with John.

Yep, he was in trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock came home late from a particularly unpleasant encounter with Mycroft. They had been arguing back and forth over Mycroft’s interference in Sherlock’s life, which was really getting out of control. First, Mycroft harassed Sherlock’s new flatmate, suggesting that they might have some type of relationship, and then he started dating said flatmate’s best friend. It really was going too far.

Of course, when he went to tell Mycroft that he needed to keep his big nose out of Sherlock’s business, he overreacted. They had been meeting for the past week to discuss it, which usually involved Sherlock screaming at Mycroft while Mycroft watched him, expressionless.

This time, Sherlock had been working at his desk, when Mycroft showed up with some nonsense that he was threatening to tell John. John had just returned home from practice and was in the shower, so Sherlock couldn’t risk having the conversation in the flat. He held the conversation outside of the flat, standing in the rain in nothing but his sheet, Mycroft grinning at him.

Returning to the flat, Sherlock was annoyed. He was doing nothing wrong by trying to have a friend, what exactly was Mycroft’s problem? He made some claim about wanting to see that Sherlock was happy, but Sherlock knew that was a lie.

On the way to his bedroom, Sherlock paused, hearing a moan coming from John’s room. He crept closer to the door, which was partially opened. Inside, he saw something that nearly made him gasp aloud. He stifled himself and watched what was happening with interest.

John was lying on his back, completely naked. He was tracing circles on his stomach with one hand while the other hand rubbed one of his nipples. The circling hand moved lower and lower over a well-muscled stomach, eventually stopping when it reached pubic hair. John pinched his nipple, moaning again, and then slid his other hand around his cock.

Sherlock stared, rooted in the spot, as John started stroking himself, letting out little gasps and moans. His eyes were closed and he bucked his hips up into his hand, tightening his grip and picking up speed.

“Mm, Sherlock,” John moaned and then pinched his nipple again, crying out.

Starting at the sound of his name, Sherlock racked his brain for any indication that John was interested in him. He couldn’t think of a time that John had shown interest, but here he was, moaning Sherlock’s name while masturbating. Did John know that

Sherlock was there? Was he just toying with Sherlock’s emotions? There was no way to know, other than asking John about it, but if John didn’t know that Sherlock was watching, that could make things very awkward.

The door to John’s room often didn’t latch correctly, which made it swing open sometimes. Sherlock was sure that he had mentioned that to John, so John should have known to ensure the door was properly latched before doing something like this. Perhaps he forgot. He was being quiet enough that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to hear him if the door were closed and Sherlock hadn’t been standing right there. Did that mean that John was trying to keep this quiet?

“Oh god, Sherlock, just like that!” John’s hand was a whirlwind of movement, moving so fast that Sherlock couldn’t keep up with it.

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as John arched his back and moaned loudly. “Sherlock!” he said loudly as he came, shooting his seed all over his chest. He panted as he lay there afterward, luckily keeping his eyes closed.

It took Sherlock a few moments to remember that he should move before John saw him, and he nearly fell in his rush to get to his bedroom. He shut the door as quietly as possible before locking it behind him and laying on his own bed.

He thought about John, sexy, gorgeous, John, touching himself while thinking of Sherlock. The thought of it alone was almost enough to make Sherlock come. He let the sheet fall from his body and stroked himself, imagining what John was thinking about when he came, wondering what Sherlock could have been doing in John’s mind that he liked so much.

Sherlock was soon having his own orgasm, thinking about having John’s cock in his mouth, shooting sticky warmth into it that Sherlock swallowed greedily. As he came down from his orgasm, he wistfully thought that John would probably never allow that to happen.

***

Sherlock didn’t mention what he had seen to John. He hadn’t reached a conclusion on whether John knew he was there or not, but he didn’t want to risk ruining everything by mentioning it. He was becoming very attached to John and ruining it would have been very upsetting.

His attachment to John was something of a problem. He had never been so attached to another person, spending most of his life in the company of himself, which he rather liked. Never feeling an interest in normal relationships like friendship, he had been happy by himself. Now he found himself wanting to spend as much time as possible with John, which was quite a change. He made sure he was home every night so he could be there if John was there, wanting to talk to him and spend time with him. He often bought takeaway for the two of them so that they could eat and talk, enjoying the company.

Every time he spoke to Mycroft, his insufferable brother made comments about Sherlock’s attachment that drove Sherlock mad. He simply had a friend for the first time, there was no reason to overreact about what it might mean. Sherlock tried to put what he had seen John doing from his mind, but he found himself walking past John’s door quite often over the next couple weeks, hoping for another glimpse of what happened when John didn’t think Sherlock could see him.

Sherlock liked to walk by the practice field while John was playing rugby. He was as subtle about it as he could be, but his schedule often put him there at the correct time and he couldn’t help himself. He slowed his pace as he walked by, watching John run around in the little shorts that drove Sherlock crazy. He was sure that he was being obvious, but it was too hard not to watch John’s legs and arse and wish that Sherlock was the one John was tackling.

One nice day, Sherlock decided to sit under his favorite tree and read again. It was a bit dangerous, sitting where he could be seen watching John, but the weather was beautiful and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to relax and fantasize. He settled down with his book propped open in his lap and leaned against the tree, watching John out of the corner of his eye.

Alarmingly, John seemed to be heading his way. “Sherlock! Just the person I wanted to see!”

Sherlock looked up, feigning surprise.

“Hello, John.”

“It’s time for my rugby practice, but we’re not really practicing today.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, closing his book. He was unsure why John was telling him this information. It hardly seemed interesting to Sherlock.

“We’re going to play a pickup game.”

“That sounds nice.”

John smiled. “Would you like to play with us?”

Sherlock felt all of the color drain from his face. “I beg your pardon?”

“I thought you might want to play with us. It’s not that complicated, so I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly if you don’t know the rules.”

“I—I don’t play sport,” Sherlock said quickly, looking at his folded hands

“That’s okay. A few other people are playing who aren’t actual players. I’m sure you won’t be the worst person on the field. Your brother is even playing.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up to John’s face. “ _Mycroft_ is playing rugby?”

John chuckled. “That was my reaction. Greg convinced him. It’s amazing what people do for love, right?”

Sherlock felt his heart flutter when John said the word “love.” It was silly and sentimental, but before Sherlock knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, packing his book away in his bag. “I haven’t got proper clothes,” Sherlock said, suddenly self-conscious.

“That’s okay. I have a spare set of shorts. Come on, we’ll get you changed.” He led Sherlock off to the changing room, where he handed Sherlock some shorts that were far too big. They had a drawstring, though, so Sherlock supposed he could tighten them enough so he wouldn’t have an embarrassing situation.

John chatted while Sherlock stripped off his trousers, embarrassed to be seen by John in his pants, but more embarrassed to ask for some privacy. He supposed that it was normal for boys to change in front of each other and John had seen him in nothing but a sheet, of course, but it didn’t make him any less comfortable. He pulled the shorts on and tied them tightly before changing into the large shirt that John handed him.

“You’re a bit smaller than me,” John said, looking him up and down. “But you still look better in those clothes than I do.”

Sherlock blushed and followed John back to the practice field, realizing that he had made a mistake. What would he do if John actually tackled him? The shorts he was wearing would do nothing to hide an erection, which would cause an embarrassing situation.

He was distracted by the sight of Mycroft standing awkwardly next to Greg, looking as uncomfortable as Sherlock felt. Sherlock locked eyes with him and raised one eyebrow and Mycroft blushed, looking away. At least Sherlock had the upper hand in that situation.

John gave Sherlock a quick overview of the rules and then told him that he would be on Greg’s team. He smiled apologetically. “I wanted you, but I had an extra player, so you went to Greg. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

Sherlock nodded, feeling nervous. How had John talked him into this? It was like John had some sort of hold over him, making him do things he would never normally do. If anyone who knew him could see him playing rugby right now, they would be shocked.

The game started and things were going well. Sherlock even caught the ball when one of the actual rugby players threw it to him and he ran toward the end of the field, holding it. Things were going great until he felt arms around his thighs and he was falling down to the ground with John tumbling on top of him as the ball flew out of his hands.

He lay there for a moment, stunned, before realizing that John hadn’t moved. He looked up to see John half laying on him, grinning.

“You’re pretty good at this,” John said.

“At what? Being tackled?”

John blushed slightly. “Well, you’re rather pleasant to tackle. But I meant the game.” He slid his hand down Sherlock’s hip as he stood, licking his lips absently before helping Sherlock up.

Sherlock took the offered hand, feeling his heart flutter as John lifted him easily. Sherlock wasn’t exactly weak, but something about John being able to lift hims was so sexy.

They began playing again. John had been correct, Sherlock wasn’t that bad at the game. He helped his team score and managed to catch and throw the ball without embarrassing himself several times.

He caught the ball and ran toward the end of the field, holding it tightly. He was sure he would be able to make it, there was no one between him and scoring. He was nearly there when he saw John coming at him from the side. He tried to shift away, but ended up losing his balance instead of escaping the tackle.

John grabbed him around the middle and they went down, Sherlock instinctively throwing his arm out to catch himself. Ah, this was where unfamiliarity with the sport reared its ugly head, Sherlock thought as he heard a sickening crack in his arm and pain shot through him. Someone was screaming and he was nearly certain it was him, but it seemed too far away as things faded to black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom (a former nurse) gave me some very good advice on what sort of pain management they would do for an addict, which I promptly ignored in favor of a more interesting story. :-)
> 
> Enjoy!

John scrambled off of Sherlock, kneeling by him to see what had happened. Greg ran over and knelt on the other side of Sherlock. “He landed on his arm,” Greg said.

John swore. He should have taken longer to explain how to take a tackle. It wasn’t surprising that Sherlock might try to catch himself: who didn’t try to catch themselves when they fell? Apparently Sherlock had fainted, hopefully from the pain in his arm and not from hitting his head.

“Did you call someone?’ John asked, making sure that Sherlock was lying still.

“Ambulance is coming,” Mycroft said, appearing behind John. “Did he hit his head?”

“I don’t think so,” John said, brushing some hair out of Sherlock’s face.

“I didn’t see it, if he did,” Greg told Mycroft, looking worried.

“Will you go with him in the ambulance?” Mycroft asked John.

John looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t want to?”

Mycroft smiled grimly. “I think he’d rather have you there.”

John nodded. He was slightly relieved: he would have hated to be left at the field, not knowing if Sherlock was okay. “I’ll go with him.”

“Then you need to know something important,” Mycroft said urgently, crouching next to John. “You cannot allow them to give him any opiates.”

“What?” John asked, not understanding what Mycroft was saying.

“He had a drug problem, he cannot be allowed to have opiates.”

John turned to look at Mycroft. “He had a what?”

Mycroft sighed and put his hand to his forehead. He spoke very slowly, like he was speaking to an idiot. “Three years ago, he was in rehab for cocaine. He has been clean since then, but there is always a risk of relapse. The doctors will need to know about that.”

Finally understanding what Mycroft was saying, John nodded. He stepped back as the paramedics appeared and began working on Sherlock, getting him onto a stretcher. It didn’t really make sense to John, but he accepted it. Really, though: Sherlock was a drug addict?

John followed the instructions from the paramedics and climbed into the ambulance after Sherlock was wheeled in, reaching out and holding his friend’s uninjured hand. He felt guilty for tackling him in a way that would hurt him, and was worried that something was really wrong, considering Sherlock still hadn’t woken up.

When they arrived at the hospital, Sherlock was whisked away and John was told to wait. He had mentioned the drug addiction to the paramedics and again to the doctor who came to see him, who nodded and said that they were taking care of it. John was left sitting in a waiting room without his phone or any of his books. He watched the terrible daytime television that was on in the waiting room and paced anxiously, until a doctor came to update him.

“He’s awake. We set his arm and put a cast on. It’s a rather severe break, but it won’t need surgery. He’s asking about you,” the doctor said with a friendly smile.

“Really?” John asked, surprised that Sherlock would ask for him instead of his brother or someone.

“Yes. We did give him some pain medication. Now, we have you listed as his flatmate, is that correct?” John nodded and the doctor handed John a bottle of pills. “This is his medication. It is important that he not exceed the labeled dosage. There’s one day worth of pills here, after that he’s on paracetamol for pain.”

John looked at the few pills in the bottle. Sherlock was going to be in awful pain when these ran out. “Can I see him now?”

The doctor nodded and led him to where Sherlock was sitting in a bed. He smiled broadly when John entered. “There he is,” Sherlock mumbled.

“He’s a little woozy from the medication,” the doctor said. He handed John a stack of papers. “You are free to take him home. Good luck.”

John nodded grimly as the doctor left, looking at Sherlock’s lazy smile again. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“I’m always ready to go anywhere with you,” Sherlock said, slurring his words slightly.

John smiled. “Okay, mate. Up you get.” He helped Sherlock stand up, supporting him as he walked him outside.

He decided to spring for a cab, not wanting to walk the whole way home with Sherlock leaning on him. Once they were seated in the cab and headed to the flat, Sherlock rested his head on John’s shoulder and seemed to go to sleep.

John smiled and kept his arm around Sherlock, enjoying this closeness. He knew that once Sherlock was off the drugs, John’s chances of getting to hold him were small, so he decided to just enjoy it.

They arrived at the flat and John paid the cabbie as Sherlock jumped out of the car and stumbled inside. John hurried to follow, hoping that Sherlock wasn’t trying an experiment or something. Instead, he found Sherlock stripping his clothes off in the living room.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” John asked, steadying Sherlock as he nearly fell trying to get his shorts off.

“I want to wear my sheet. My sheet is comfortable.”

Chuckling, John pulled the shorts back up. “Why don’t we keep these clothes on for right now?”

Sherlock looked down at his bare chest and nodded. “I still need a sheet, though.”

“Why don’t we go to bed?” John asked, steering Sherlock to his bedroom and pushing him down onto the bed, covering him with his blanket. “There, that’s lovely. Can I get you anything?”

“More pills,” Sherlock said eagerly. “I rather like the pills. They make me feel good. I haven’t felt this good in so long.”

John frowned. He had never heard Sherlock like this and as funny as it was, he was sure he didn’t like it. “You don’t need pills to feel good, Sherlock.”

“What else is going to make me feel good? Are you? I bet you could make me feel really good. But you won’t. You’re far too gorgeous for me.” He gave a sleepy smile, reached up and touched John’s face, and then closed his eyes and was soon snoring.

John watched him for a while, wondering what Sherlock was talking about. It was easy to understand what Sherlock meant when he said that John could make him feel good, but John had been sure that Sherlock wasn’t interested in things like that, especially with John. And what could he possibly mean when he said John was “too gorgeous”? Sherlock was the most beautiful boy John had ever seen and John was depressingly normal-looking. If Sherlock were interested in having a relationship with someone, he would be way out of John’s league.

After he was sure that Sherlock was asleep, John went out to the living room. He needed to go back and get his phone and books, but he didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone. Deciding that his things could wait, John made himself a cup of tea and sat down to watch some television.

An hour later, John was just nodding off in his chair when there was a knock on the door. He opened it to see Greg and Mycroft. Greg handed him his bag and Sherlock’s bag, smiling grimly. 

“How is he?” Greg asked.

“He’s sleeping.” John was suddenly nervous about the drugs. Mycroft had said not to let them give Sherlock any, but they had anyway. He went to the kitchen, where he had left the bottle of pills, and brought it out to Mycroft. “They gave me this to give him when he wakes up.”

Mycroft sighed, looking at the pills. “He’ll need something for the pain. As long as this is all you give him, it will have to be okay.”

John nodded. “I won’t let him have any more than this.”

“I’m trusting you with my baby brother, John.”

“John’s trustworthy,” Greg said firmly.

John smiled at him. “I’ll take care of him.”

Mycroft clapped his hand on John’s shoulder. “I know you will, John Watson. Oh, and remember that anything he says while taking those pills was under the influence.”

John thought about Sherlock calling him gorgeous. Of course it was only because of the pills. Sherlock would never say something like that if he were in his right mind. It would be silly to think that was possible.

John smiled and nodded, bidding them farewell and sitting down at his desk to do some work and wait for Sherlock to wake up.

It was another two hours before John heard Sherlock groaning in his room. John fetched a glass of water and one of the pills from the kitchen on his way to Sherlock’s bedroom, where Sherlock was moaning in pain.

“Here. This will make it better,” John said, holding the pill out.

Sherlock reached for it, but he wasn’t awake enough to manage to put the pill in his mouth and hold the water without spilling it. John sat on the edge of the bed and placed the pill in Sherlock’s open mouth, brushing his soft lips with the tiniest of touches before holding the glass of water to his lips so he could drink.

Sherlock fell back against the pillows, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Thank you, John.”

John smiled. Before he knew what he was doing, he had leaned forward and kissed Sherlock on the forehead. “Go back to sleep, Sherlock. You need your rest.”

Sherlock nodded, mumbled something that John couldn’t understand, and rolled onto his good arm to go to sleep. John returned to the living room and his school work, wishing that he could be in the bedroom, holding Sherlock while he slept.

***

The next morning, John awoke on the couch to see Sherlock sitting next to him on the floor. “Is there medicine?” Sherlock asked quietly, holding his arm.

John nodded and sat up, stretching his neck. He had been awake much of the night, making sure to wake Sherlock up on time and give him his medicine so that he wasn’t awakened by the pain. John went to his bedroom, where he had hidden the pills in case

Sherlock woke up and retrieved the last pill.

“This is the last one,” John said, handing it to Sherlock. “After this, you’re on paracetamol only.”

“Well, I just have to enjoy this one then,” Sherlock joked with a smile. He took the pill and sat on the couch. “Do you mind if I stay out here?”

“Of course not,” John said, sitting next to him. He leaned sideways so he was half laying down and tucked his feet up under his bum. It was the most comfortable position he could manage, but it wasn’t very comfortable.

“Come here, John,” Sherlock said.

John sat up, a little confused. Sherlock’s broken arm was resting on the arm of the couch and Sherlock put a pillow in his lap, gesturing for John to rest his head on it. John did as he was told, sighing contentedly as he lay down and was able to stretch his legs out better. Sherlock pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered John with it, rubbing his arm comfortingly.

It was a strangely intimate position, but John liked it. Sherlock turned on the television and made a nasty comment about programme that was on, which made John laugh.

“Thank you for taking care of me, John,” Sherlock said quietly, his speech beginning to slur again.

“Any time, Sherlock.”

“You’re going to make a great doctor,” Sherlock told him.

John chuckled. They had rarely spoken about school and he was sure that he had never mentioned what he was studying to Sherlock. Of course Sherlock would know without John saying, which is why he had never asked.

“You’re amazing.” The words slipped out in a whisper without John meaning to say them. He cringed when he realized that he had actually said it, hoping that Sherlock was asleep.

“I love when you say that, John. I can almost believe it when you say it with such conviction.”

“I say it with such conviction because it’s true. You’re brilliant and amazing.” He hesitated before thinking about the fact that Sherlock probably wouldn’t remember this afterward. Sherlock seemed to have a very low opinion of himself and John wanted him to know exactly how he felt about his mad flatmate. “And you’re very sexy.”

“Stop speaking nonsense.” Sherlock was definitely close to sleeping now.

“Not nonsense. It’s the truth. You’re unbelievably sexy and I can’t believe I get to be your friend.  I dream about having the chance to be more.”

He received no response and sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself drift back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock awoke with a terrible pain in his arm. He looked around, a little surprised to see John’s head in his lap. His memory was a little fuzzy. He remembered something about putting a pillow down and telling John to put his head there, but the memories didn’t seem to want to come back to him all the way. Parts of the conversation were clear, but most of what they had talked about had vanished.

He pressed his head back into the back of the couch. He wanted more pain medicine. He remembered how amazing he had felt the day before, when his mind had been clouded by the medicine he had been given, quieting it. It wasn’t quite the same as the cocaine had felt, but the haze had been rather nice and he wished he could experience it again. He let out a groan and John shifted before sitting up.

“How do you feel?” John asked, looking concerned.

“Like I want more pain medicine,” Sherlock told him quietly.

“We have paracetamol, but that’s it,” John said, standing to fetch it.

“That’s not what I want,” Sherlock growled, getting annoyed. It wasn’t like he couldn’t control himself. A few days of pain medicine wouldn’t ruin him. He wasn’t really an addict anyway.

“Well, that’s what you’re going to get,” John said matter-of-factly. “As an addict, you…”

“Who told you?” Sherlock asked, suddenly realizing that he had never mentioned drug use to John. “How did you find out?”

“Mycroft told me before the ambulance got there. Someone needed to make sure that you weren’t given more medicine than you absolutely needed.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Of course Mycroft told him. He needed to be involved in everything, especially situations that didn’t concern him at all. He couldn’t allow Sherlock to have anything nice in his life without making him pay for his past indiscretions.

John was sure to leave now, realizing that Sherlock wasn’t worth the drama of a drug addiction as well.

“He would, of course, need to tell you that,” Sherlock spat.

John watched him for a moment, his face expressionless. He nodded eventually. “You’re right. He shouldn’t have told me. He could have gone to the hospital with you. He could have told the paramedic so I wouldn’t hear. He could have done any number of things rather than tell me. He didn’t do any of those things, however, he told me.”

“Is this where you tell me that addiction is a disease and you won’t hold it against me?” Sherlock sneered. John was being very understanding, but Sherlock’s arm hurt and he wanted better medicine than paracetamol.

“No. But I don’t hold it against you. Plenty of people have addictions. That doesn’t make them any worse than people who don’t. You fought yours, which makes me grateful.”

“Grateful?” That wasn’t what Sherlock was expecting.

“Yes. Because if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be roommates. I’m quite enjoying living with you.”

Sherlock was caught totally off guard. He wouldn’t have expected John to react quite that way. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he told himself, wordlessly taking the paracetamol that John handed him and drinking the water.

“I enjoy living with you, too,” Sherlock said after a few minutes, smiling shyly at John.

“Good. If you said anything else, I was going to break your other arm,” John told him with a good-natured smile.

“You’ll have to make it up to me by doing all of the cleaning,” Sherlock announced.

“I’ve been here two weeks and I haven’t seen you clean anything, while I’ve been rather tidy.”

“Then you won’t notice a different.”

John laughed and hit Sherlock with the pillow, taking care not to his his arm.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I am injured!” 

“My apologies,” John told him. “Next time I’ll teach you how to fall before we play rugby.”

“Oh, trust me. There won’t be a next time. You’ll be lucky if I ever let you tackle me again.” Sherlock’s eyes twinkled and he laughed as John hit him with the pillow again.

He agreed with John. He was grateful that chapter of his life was over.

***

The next several weeks were very difficult for Sherlock. He was limited by his cast, which stopped him from doing most of the experimenting he enjoyed. Luckily, he had broken his off hand, so he was still able to write. His classes weren’t affected and he was able to continue tutoring John, which had become his favorite thing to do. John was quite clever and it gave Sherlock joy to explain things in a way that John understood.

John came home about a week after a very important exam, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Sherlock! Get dressed. We’re celebrating tonight!”

Sherlock looked up from the couch, where he was lying, bored. “What are we celebrating?”

John held a paper out to him. “I did very well on my exam. The improvement over the last few weeks has been amazing and it’s all down to you.”

“I simply explained it all to you. You did the work entirely on your own,” Sherlock said, but he allowed himself a small smile. He looked the exam over, impressed with how well John had done on it.

“No, it’s all you mate. Having you tutor me was the best thing I’ve ever done. I have a new best mate and I’m doing very well in my worst subject.”

“Best mate? I thought Greg was your best mate,” Sherlock said, surprised. No one had ever called him a friend before, let alone a best friend.

John’s cheeks colored slightly. “I won’t say it again if it makes you uncomfortable, but I’ve been thinking of you as my best friend lately. We’re closer than I’ve been with anyone.”

Sherlock smiled, suddenly very pleased with himself. If someone like John wanted to be his best friend, perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he had always thought.

“You’re my best friend, too,” Sherlock said.

John laughed. “I thought I was your only friend.”

“Well, that too.”

“Get up. We need to celebrate.”

“How are we going to celebrate?” Sherlock asked nervously, standing.

“Pub?” John suggested. Seeing the look of terror on Sherlock’s face, he laughed again. “Right, you’d hate that. Dinner, then. My treat.”

Sherlock nodded and smiled before heading to his room to change. He had been wearing the easiest possible clothes for putting on and off, considering he couldn’t use one of his hands. Tonight, however, he wanted to look nice. He managed to get his trousers on without an issue, but his shirt was more difficult. He got it on, but he couldn’t button it. He walked out into the living room, where John was waiting.

“Can you help me with this?” Sherlock asked, trying not to sound too frustrated. He despised not being able to do things on his own.

“Of course,” John said, standing and beginning to button Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock suppressed a shiver as John’s fingers brushed against his chest. He had picked out his tightest-fitting shirt on purpose, having noticed that John looked at him more when he was wearing that shirt, but he hadn’t expected to need help with it. The tightness was working against him now, as John right in front of him and it would be very obvious if Sherlock were to get aroused, which seemed likely, considering how John’s hands were skimming down Sherlock’s front.

After what seemed like a tortuously long time, John finished buttoning the shirt and then paused. “Would you like help tucking it in?” he asked in a quiet voice, glancing down Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock took a step back, his face feeling hot. “No, that’s okay. I’ll manage that myself,” he said in a rush, disappearing into his bedroom to finish getting dressed, feeling like an idiot.

He eventually emerged to go to dinner with John, who didn’t say anything about Sherlock acting oddly when John was helping him with his shirt. They went to a nice restaurant that John picked out and were seated at a table with a candle on it.

“This is nice,” John said with a smile. He glanced around. “A lot of couples, though.”

“Well, it is Friday night. Isn’t this what couples do on Friday night?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the fluttering in his chest at eating dinner with John surrounded by couples.

John shrugged. “Well, we’re just mates. Right?”

Sherlock looked up at him. John was asking him to confirm something, but he wasn’t exactly sure what. Of course they were mates. They had just discussed that. “Right,” he said, not feeling particularly sure of the answer.

There was an expression Sherlock couldn’t quite read on John’s face, which was frustrating. Sherlock just smiled at him in what he hoped was a friendly way and looked at his menu.

They shared a lovely meal with a bit more wine than they perhaps should have had. The two of them stumbled home together, Sherlock’s arm around John’s shoulders and John’s arm around Sherlock’s middle.

“This was fun,” Sherlock said as they made it into their flat without incident. “We should do this more often.”

“Get drunk together?” John asked, collapsing on the couch.

Sherlock fell next to John. “Go out together.”

“We eat dinner together every night.”

“It doesn’t usually involve wine, though,” Sherlock said, looking at John.

John let his head fall on Sherlock’s shoulder. “That’s true. And wine is good.”

“Very good. Lowers inhibitions,” Sherlock muttered, noticing how close they were sitting. He moved his hand so it was on top of John’s, which was between them.

“That it does,” John said, his voice sounding very close to Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock turned to look at his face at the same time that John looked up at Sherlock and they were suddenly very close together.

“You’re amazing, John,” Sherlock said quietly.

John smiled. “You’re sexy, Sherlock. So very sexy.”

“Why do you say that?” Sherlock asked. He knew that it wasn’t possible for John to believe something like that. The only situation in which someone who looked like John could possibly call someone who looked like Sherlock sexy was as a nasty joke. He didn’t like to think that John was playing some sort of joke on him, but it was the only explanation.

“Because it’s true. I can barely control myself when I look at you sometimes.”

“Is that why you say my name when you masturbate?” Sherlock asked, suddenly. He had seen or heard John two more times when the door didn’t close all the way. It was driving him crazy not knowing what John was thinking when he said Sherlock’s name while he was coming.

John looked surprised. “You know about that?”

Sherlock nodded. “You didn’t know that I knew?”

Rubbing his face, John sighed. “No idea. Why do you watch me wank?”

“Why not? You’re gorgeous. It’s not my fault if you don’t secure your door.” Sherlock felt defensive now, like he was being accused of being some sort of peeping Tom.

John smiled. “That’s true. If my door is open, I suppose you have a right to look. I might go have a wank right now, in case you’re interested in looking.”

“What do you think about?”

“You. Your mouth. I love your mouth.”

Sherlock sighed. John was drunk, he clearly had no idea what he was saying. “Go to bed, John. You’re drunk. I’m going to bed myself.”

“Good idea. We can talk in the morning.” John stood unsteadily and stumbled to his bedroom.

Sherlock stayed where he was until he heard John’s normal snores rumbling from his room. Only then did Sherlock go to his own bedroom, where he undressed slowly and thought about their conversation.

Things were getting strange with John. He apparently hadn’t known that Sherlock had seen or heard him masturbating, which made Sherlock feel a bit guilty for watching and listening. He hadn’t seemed that upset about it, though. In fact, he had seemed rather happy about it.

Sherlock decided to let it go and see where things stood in the morning. He just hoped he would forget all about that conversation.


	6. Chapter 6

John woke up with an aching head. He went out to the kitchen, wishing he hadn’t had so much to drink the night before. As he made himself a cup of tea and took some paracetamol, he noticed that the flat was surprisingly quiet. That meant that Sherlock had either gone out somewhere or he was still asleep, two things that were very unlikely. He shrugged it off and went about his morning, making himself some breakfast and then getting in the shower.

It was in the middle of his shower that he remembered his conversation with Sherlock the day before. He swore and put his head in his hands, wondering what had possessed him to say those things to Sherlock. Things had seemed to go so well, they were sitting close together and John had been sure that they were about to kiss when Sherlock suddenly became insecure again. Sherlock’s insecurities were becoming a regular thing, but John still didn’t like them. He wished that Sherlock could see him how John saw him, so beautiful that John wanted to grab him and never let him go. Everything went downhill from there, and before John knew it, he was offering to let Sherlock watch him wank.

What an idiot.

He blamed the wine for the situation, but that wasn’t really an excuse. He couldn’t use the wine to excuse the fact that he said Sherlock’s name when he wanked. Sherlock knowing about that dirty little secret made John feel a little sick. He hadn’t thought about Sherlock hearing him. After that first time he let himself say Sherlock’s name, when he had assumed that Sherlock hadn’t heard him, he had been careful to be quiet or to do it when he was sure Sherlock was out of the house. He had been so careful that he was positive he hadn’t been caught.

John went back to his bedroom and noticed that his door was open. That was strange, he was sure he had closed his door. He remembered from the conversation the night before, Sherlock saying something about securing his door.

Oh. That was it. Sherlock had explained to him how to shut the door so it stayed shut when he moved in and John must not have been doing it right. He wondered why he hadn’t realized that the had been doing it incorrectly all this time. It was embarrassing that Sherlock had seen him wanking. It hadn’t scared Sherlock off, though, because he was still there, even though he knew John was wanking while thinking of him. That was interesting.

While John was getting dressed for the day, he decided to perform an experiment of his own. The flat had been experiment free for the past several weeks while Sherlock’s arm healed, and John decided it was time for that to end. He set up his video camera so that it could see outside his door, making sure that it was in an inconspicuous place and hidden by other things. He wondered just what Sherlock did while he was wanking.

He waited all day for Sherlock to return. He hadn’t emerged from his room for tea or the loo, so John was certain that he wasn’t home. After a few hours, John wondered if something bad had happened. Since he had broken his arm, he had barely left the flat.

Being gone all day seemed like a bad sign. John had sent him a couple texts and received no response, though that wasn’t unusual. Sherlock was a terrible texter.

John was considering calling Greg to figure out a way to get in touch with Mycroft when he realized that Sherlock was probably embarrassed. As far as John knew, Sherlock was very inexperienced with relationships, especially romantic relationships. It wasn’t surprising that he would be embarrassed after admitting that he had been watching John wank and then calling him “gorgeous.”

Deciding to wait a bit longer, John prepared for Sherlock’s arrival by stripping naked and getting comfortable on his bed. He tried to think of his usual position for wanking, but he couldn’t remember what it was, so he just decided to lie flat on his back, hoping it looked natural to Sherlock.

Just when John was about to give up hope of Sherlock coming home, he heard the door to the flat open. He hurried to turn his video camera on and then lay back down on the bed, running his hands up and down his chest to get himself in the mood. He seemed to be having a bit of stage fright, but all he had to do was think of Sherlock’s face and he felt his cock twitch with interest. He pictured holding Sherlock’s face and kissing him gently, Sherlock putting his arms around John and holding him.

John reached down and began stroking himself, imagining that it was Sherlock stroking him, that Sherlock was watching his face to decide which movements John liked the best. He tried a few different strokes out, eventually settling on the one he thought Sherlock would choose. He stroked faster, not even trying to stifle his moans as he thought about Sherlock kissing his way down John’s chest, nuzzling John’s belly and pubic hair, and then taking John completely into his mouth before drawing back and settling in to suck, lick and kiss John’s cock until he came.

With the events of the previous night still fresh in John’s mind, how close he had been to Sherlock when they first arrived back at the flat, it didn’t take long before John was coming, stroking himself through it, hearing himself breathe, “Oh, Sherlock,” as he finished.

John stretched out on his bed when he was done, wondering if Sherlock had noticed or if he saw. When he was sure it was safe, he retrieved his camera, made sure his door was shut all the way, and pressed play on the video he had made.

Nothing happened at first. He heard himself start to moan and had started to think that he had been wasting time when Sherlock appeared outside the door. He licked his lips and stared in the bedroom, palming himself through his trousers. His breath became harsher and more uneven as he watched John and he whimpered when John said his name and came. Sherlock stood there for a moment, almost indecisive, like he wanted to go into the room and join John, but he just turned around and walked away.

John put the camera down, frowning. Sherlock really was watching him wank. It wasn’t that he had doubted Sherlock’s word, but hearing about it was one thing and seeing it was another entirely. While he was setting the camera up, he had thought he would feel uncomfortable watching Sherlock watch him, or perhaps even violated. Instead, now that it was real, all he felt was aroused. He thought of all the times he had wanked that Sherlock could have been watching. He wondered if afterward, Sherlock went to his own room and wanked, thinking about what he had just seen. John moaned, thinking about how sexy Sherlock would look touching himself and thinking of John.

When John couldn’t take it anymore, he stood and put some clothes on before knocking on Sherlock’s door. There was no answer at first, but eventually, Sherlock invited him in.

John entered, noticing that Sherlock appeared to be wearing nothing but a dressing gown. “Where have you been all day?” John asked, sitting down in a chair near the bed. 

Sherlock held up his arm, which was cast-free. “They took it off.”

“That’s great!” John said with a smile. He knew how much Sherlock hated the cast and not being able to do everything on his own. “I thought it wasn’t due to be removed for another few days.”

Sherlock shrugged. He didn’t say anything else, he just looked at the book he was reading. After a few minutes, John sighed and stood to leave. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock was just embarrassed about the previous night or if he was upset about something that

John had said.

At the doorway, John turned back to look at Sherlock. “I don’t know how much you remember from last night, but I meant everything I said.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, but John left before he could say anything, afraid that if he stayed, Sherlock would say the wrong thing.

***

John stayed in his room all night and most of the next day. He was afraid to go out and see Sherlock. He really wanted Sherlock to see exactly what John thought of him, but he was afraid that he would scare him off. Sherlock had a fearless facade up, but he was the most insecure person John had ever seen.

That night, John left the flat to meet Greg and Mycroft at the pub. He smiled when he saw Mycroft sitting uncomfortably in the pub Greg liked, looking like he could not be more out of place. “Good evening,” Mycroft said stiffly as John sat down next to them.

“Evening,” John said with a smile. “How are you two this evening?”

Mycroft and Greg exchanged a smile and John made a face, which made Greg laugh. “I’ll get us a round, shall I?” Greg asked, standing and walking away.

“So, John. Why did you want to meet us tonight?”

John took a deep breath. He knew involving Mycroft in this was a bit of a risk, considering Sherlock’s antagonistic relationship with his brother, but he didn’t know who else to ask. “Sherlock. He’s very insecure.”

Mycroft nodded. “He is.”

“Why? He can’t see how gorgeous he is?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the word “gorgeous.” When John just looked at him, he sighed. “Sherlock, as you well know, is brilliant. He was far advanced in his schooling and it made the other children act rather cruelly towards him. Teenagers, especially those who are several years younger than their schoolmates, are very impressionable. He believes everything they told him wholeheartedly.”

“Why did no one set him straight about it?”

“We did not know until the drug use started. He never complained to us, so our parents and I thought that everything was normal. By the time we found out, Sherlock was in rehab for the first time and there was nothing we could do.” Mycroft accepted his

drink from Greg, took a drink of it, made a face, and set the glass down on the table.

Greg and John chuckled and drank their own drinks.

“Do you think he’s interested in me?” John asked Mycroft.

“I think you should discuss that with him.”

“Oh, that’s an easy task,” Greg said under his breath.

“I think you would be good for him, John,” Mycroft said. “I will, of course, deny that I ever said such a thing if asked.”

John turned to Greg. “If you were me, how would you ask him out?”

“If I were you, we would have been shagging for months by now. I also wouldn’t have broken his arm,” Greg said with a grin.

“Very helpful, Greg.”

“Okay, okay. I would just talk to him. Sit him down, tell him how you feel, tell him what you want. In plain terms, no beating around the bush.”

“He’s very intimidating,” John said, chewing his bottom lip.

“Look at who I’m dating,” Greg said, jerking his thumb at Mycroft, who looked like an overgrown crow in his suit and coat in the middle of the pub.

“What exactly does that mean?” Mycroft asked, looking down his nose at Greg.

“Nothing, love,” Greg said with a grin.

Mycroft made some snarky reply and Greg made another joke. John lost interest in watching them flirt with each other and walked home, going over the possible conversations in his head as he walked.

When he made it back to the flat, he knocked nervously on Sherlock’s bedroom door. Sherlock came to the door, looking worried.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Can we talk?” John asked nervously. Sherlock nodded and John took his hand, leading him out to the living room, where he sat on the couch, pulling Sherlock down next to him. “This is important.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to conclude the story. I hope everyone enjoyed it!
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading/leaving kudos/leaving comments! I love all of you!

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the couch, wringing his hands. “Are you moving out?” he blurted out, unable to wait while John apparently thought about what he wanted to say. It only seemed natural that John would want to move out, after the things that Sherlock had admitted to.

John looked surprised. “No, why would I want that?”

“Because of what I said…” Sherlock trailed off, not wanting to risk reminding John, in case he had forgotten anything.

John chuckled. “You didn’t say anything that would make me want to move out.”

“But I admitted that I’ve watched you masturbate.” Sherlock was worried that this was some sort of trick or that John was asking something that Sherlock didn’t understand.

“Sherlock, I fancy you,” John said.

Sherlock frowned at him. “Is this some sort of joke? I don’t—” he was cut off by John leaning forward and kissing him.

He was frozen by the action. He had never been kissed before and this was a surprise. “What was that?” he asked when John pulled away.

“That was a kiss, Sherlock. You do that with people you fancy.”

“Oh.” Sherlock thought he should react in some way, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “I fancy you, too.”

“Really?” John seemed surprised, which was just ridiculous. How could Sherlock not fancy John? He was perfect.

“Yes. Do I kiss you now?” John nodded and Sherlock leaned in hesitantly, pressing his lips to John’s. John moved his mouth and Sherlock mirrored the action, letting John take the lead.

Before he knew what was happening, he was sitting in John’s lap with his legs wrapped around John. He could feel John’s erection pressing into his arse and he found that he rather liked it.

“What do we do now?” Sherlock asked after several long minutes of kissing.

John chuckled. “What do you want to happen?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “What if I tell you what I want to happen and you decide to leave because of it?”

John brushed a curl away from Sherlock’s face and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not leaving. There is almost nothing you could say that would make me leave right now.”

“’Almost nothing’?”

“Well, if you suggest a ritual murder, I might reconsider my current position,” John said, bucking up slightly so Sherlock bounced in his lap.

“Don’t be silly, John. Ritual murders are almost never necessary. I’m far more likely to suggest a type of murder that has a purpose.”

“Glad we’re on the same page with that, then.” John chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s neck, biting gently and making Sherlock moan.

“I want you, John,” Sherlock said quietly. “I want to have sex with you.”

“Have you ever had sex before?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head.

“Have you ever done anything before?”

Sherlock blushed and shook his head again.

John smiled, standing up while still holding Sherlock. Sherlock held him tightly around the neck, not used to being carried like that. John took Sherlock into John’s bedroom and set him gently on the bed, leaning in for another long kiss.

“You set the pace, love,” John told him softly. “You tell me what exactly you want to do and we’ll do it.”

“Can I see you naked?” Sherlock asked timidly.

John smiled and stood to strip his clothes off. When he was finished, he held his arms out so Sherlock could look at all of him.

Sherlock stared, amazed that he was being given permission to look at John like this. John had the sexiest body Sherlock had ever seen. “You’re amazing,” he breathed, reaching a hand out to trail it down John’s chest and stomach.

Wrapping his arms around Sherlock, John bent his head and kissed him. “You’re more amazing. I can’t believe you could fancy me.”

“How can you say that? Look at you.”

John pulled away and put his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face, locking eyes with him. “Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me. You are the sexiest man I have ever seen. I may have a body some people find appealing, but you are breathtakingly beautiful.”

Sherlock watched his face as he spoke, watching for any sign that he was lying or exaggerating. He knew what John was saying wasn’t true, but as long as John truly believed what he was saying, he could accept that.

After studying John’s face and seeing nothing but sincerity, Sherlock smiled and stretched up for another kiss. “Thank you, John,” he said quietly.

John smiled, happy with that response, and looked down at Sherlock. “Now, how about getting you naked as well?”

Sherlock self-consciously stood and undressed, feeling very exposed and vulnerable as John looked at him. When John looked at Sherlock’s face, he frowned and left the room. Sherlock bit his lip, wondering what he had done to displease John.

John returned, carrying something in his hand. He smiled sweetly at Sherlock and handed him the sheet he liked to wear around the house. Sherlock smiled and wrapped it around himself, feeling much more secure with his sheet on.

“How did you know?” Sherlock asked, looking down at his sheet-covered body.

“I know you.” John settled himself on the bed and pulled Sherlock to him, taking care not to put too much pressure on Sherlock’s bad arm.

When they were settled in each other’s arms, John kissed Sherlock again. Sherlock closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of being held and kissed. It was nice to be treated like that, to have John surrounding him, taking care of him.

Sherlock, emboldened by how sweet John was, let his hand trail down John’s chest and past his stomach to rest on his hard cock. John let out a little gasp and Sherlock gripped it tightly, giving it a firm stroke.

John moaned and kissed Sherlock again. “That’s wonderful,” he whispered.

Sherlock smiled and increased his speed, listening to the noises John was making change as his pleasure built.

While Sherlock was stroking, John surprised him by reaching down and taking hold of Sherlock’s erection, stroking in time with Sherlock. They kissed again, bringing their lips together at the same time as they stroked each other and moaned.

Sherlock felt something warm spreading over his hand and slowed, stroking John gently through his orgasm before he had his own, burying his face in John’s neck and crying out as he came.

John disappeared and returned with a flannel, wiping both of them down and lying down on the bed, pulling Sherlock into his arms. “I’m tired,” John said with a yawn.

Sherlock wasn’t tired, but he didn’t want to risk John thinking he didn’t want to cuddle, so he just nodded and relaxed into the embrace. “This is wonderful,” he said, nuzzling John’s cheek.

“You’re wonderful,” John said as he drifted off to sleep, a smile on his face.

This had definitely been a successful experiment.


End file.
